I designed this front door transom for a home in Richmond, Virginia, thirty years ago. The homeowners didn’t pursue the idea, so it became a design learning experience.

A window like this can become quite expensive. I’m not expensive, but all of the processes involved add up. Even if I explain everything, most people need help understanding the time, skill, and value of such a piece. Even if one desires the piece, where is its place in a list of priorities? I understand.

Some accept the concept as a work of art, a symbol of expendable income, or their character and refinement, an investment. Others would like a piece of my work and have the financial resources. Understood.

This is the maze, the slalom of my life’s work.

As I press on to expand the possibilities of my art, I consider every opportunity carefully. I have limited space, time, and resources.

There are things I used to do that no longer fit my priorities.

There are small glass studies of how light and color interact that lay around waiting to find their place. There are sketchbooks, notes, and notes on scraps of paper I rescued before washing my clothes.

My job is to find a home for my ideas—a patron with insight, resources, and the desired understanding of putting forth the effort.

What holds all this together is that I find the whole journey fascinating.